OCEAN OF LOVE
by SusanArden
Summary: Risk isn't something Marissa does well...her mermaid life depends upon secrecy and well laid plans, not blind dates and mojitos. But when her newest client, Wyatt Herndon walks into her realtor life all thoughts, plans, panties pretty much ignite. Wyatt needs a broker, not a gorgeous siren to set his fantasies on fire. Sparks fly over dinner from their out-of-control chemistry le
1. Chapter 1

OCEAN OF LOVE

Fanfiction Version

Adult Fairy Tale

Chapter One

Eric inspected his architect's proposed plans for the oceanfront condominiums. The Miami skyline as a backdrop for the seaside development was stunning, yet bordered on surreal given the fact his company, Herndon Construction, had failed to locate the actual property.

Shelly, his administrative assistant came through the doorway. "Your case is packed. We're still waiting for an update on those building plans. Another issue came down with the county requesting a full review of the proposed pier. Something about it had to be completed by one of their local structural engineers. Those city officials are going crazy with the new elections."

He gazed over the top of the plans he held in his hands. "I reread the preliminary zoning requirements for that section of beach. I'm not worried."

"Looks like you're camping out here again. There's fresh coffee brewed." Shelly set a stack of folders on his desk.

"Cross your fingers and hope that something materializes. I'll be in touch."

"If I know you, something will." Instead of leaving, she rhythmically tapped her fingernails on the files, her brows crinkling above her glasses.

He recognized impatience when he heard it. "Yes?" he asked, meeting her stare.

Shelly's eyes seemed to glow silvery across the desk for a second, sending a jolt through him, and he blinked. Inhaling, he squinted and saw nothing but her dark brown eyes trained on him and thought, _yeah, a cup of coffee was in order_.

She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. "Sinclair might be more than a poker buddy. Why not give him a call?"

"A gamble," he grunted, at the thought of using a friend on a deal this size. Sinclair Morris had been there during some hard times. Whenever he thought about his friend, Eric's whole body tensed, as though conditioned. For the life of him, he failed to pinpoint what the hell had happened over the last two years to prompt this deep-seated reaction in relation to Sinclair. He'd known the man going on forever and counted Sinclair as a good, if not close, friend—still a riffling type of disjoint overcame him whenever he recalled Sinclair.

Shelly sighed. "Sinclair has come through before."

Eric shook his head, ready to dismiss the idea. "That was personal. Let's just see what turns up. Friendship and business—I'd prefer to keep those two apart on this one." His thoughts seemed to dissolve thinking about Sinclair. "And right now, I have a ton of work."

Shelly raised her hands. "Fine. Be hardheaded."

"Guilty as charged," he flung back, turning away as she exited. A question had crossed his mind concerning shoreline dredging. Easier to stay focused on the details of property development rather than his past, where friendship was concerned. Setting the plans back down on his desk, he picked up the beach building codes and scanned the index. He thumbed through the section of the binder containing the city's zoning laws and glanced at the screen of his computer, noting the time.

An hour later, he had double vision from reading archaic ordinances. He closed the inch-thick folder, and languidly scrubbed his hand along his jaw. He couldn't get his head around the problem of finding a piece of property along South Beach to match his vision. Leaning back in his chair, he stared out the window of his Corpus Christi office. This was worse than searching for a needle in a sandstorm. So far, not a single promising email had come through tonight from the realtors he'd contacted in response to his property proposal. Time was slipping right on by, and the muscles in his shoulders tightened.

He'd received plenty of bids from real estate brokers wanting in on this project. But finding the right one continued to tax his patience. Not one of the realtors he'd spoken with had adequately answered any of his questions about the changing building regulations. He still had Apex on the back burner as Shelly kept reminding him—the small real estate firm owned by Sinclair on South Beach.

Out of the blue, Sinclair had bid on his project, bringing to the table a close-knit real estate firm specializing in beachfront property. Eric had initially passed on Sinclair's company, given the complexity of this type of deal and, of course, the strange lurch impaling his gut whenever he thought about seeing his friend. He clenched his jaw, trying to recall what specifically had happened to prompt his visceral reaction, and came up with zero. _Nada_. The more the he tried to pinpoint a cause, the murkier this memory became. He'd never known Sinclair to be one to front something he couldn't deliver. The man had done well in Gold Coast real estate sales, and now had broken into the business of commercial properties all over Florida.

Eric drummed his fingers and exhaled. He considered sending Sinclair an email, giving him the go-ahead. He clicked open the message in which Sinclair had already suggested one specific real estate agent, well versed in zoning issues. Ariel Silverpointe—a distracting young woman. It wasn't the first time his jaw slackened at seeing her. In truth, this broker was a good part of why he'd not gone with Apex right out of the gate. It had been a couple of years since he'd been down to South Beach and he could swear they'd met before. Something about her was achingly familiar, but for the life of him he couldn't place her. He wracked his brain, unable to remember much of his past outside of playing hopscotch from property to property all over the frigging world. He grunted in frustration as nothing but dense fog filled his brain.

He studied Ariel's lovely face, captivated by her arresting aqua eyes that tore into him. His chest tightened as his gaze traced over her features. Suddenly, he inhaled sharply as his mind was dotted with flickering images—of her in another setting and with him. Confusing as hell; he could almost swear he knew what it was like to hear her voice, the scent of her, and what it was like to hold her. Kiss her.

He laughed out loud. Shit, he was losing it if all it took was a beautiful woman's online picture to get him this hard and crazy. Had to be too much work and too little sex. He didn't need to arrive in Miami strung out and ready to fuck the first woman he came into contact with.

He highly doubted Miss Silverpointe possessed much experience—professionally or in the bedroom—from the looks of her on the digital business card displayed on his computer monitor. He imagined she would blind a man if he stared too long.

Well, he'd soon find out if Ariel understood this was about more than just finding a pretty piece of property. He gripped the armrests of his chair, putting off emailing Sinclair, and went back to reviewing the pitifully few available beachfront sites. This project had become an obstacle, consuming his energy, yet he couldn't stop considering the dwindling timeline. A solitary window of opportunity existed to avoid the upcoming zoning laws, due to come into effect within months. Those laws would hamper oceanfront development, drive up land prices, and put the squeeze on mid-size development firms such as his.

Plowing forward, he'd done his homework concerning South Florida land development. One of the endless details that kept him busy from sun up to sundown, and then some. Twelve-, fourteen-, sixteen-hour days—marathons he'd run—leaving him little spare time. Herndon Construction was now an international company in the world of seaside land development. A business he'd built from ground up. Literally. Since high school, he'd worked on a construction site after school and on weekends, beginning his career building rebar grids and pouring concrete. Backbreaking work, he'd quickly learned. Over the years, he'd mastered the business side of the construction industry in oceanfront condo property development. He specialized in assessing a property for _not what was out in the open_, but what lay beneath.

Around midnight, Eric sent a response to Apex's bid, making sure Sinclair understood. No favors, this was not some token friendship deal. Eric had rethought his ideas about contracting with a small firm. Hell, he didn't need a real estate broker with a penthouse view of the Atlantic. In truth, he thought about what he required. Plain and simple: the services of a realtor who was keen enough to remain hungry. A sharp realtor on the prowl.

Eric rose from behind his desk, stretched, and walked out into the hall. No one was around as he headed to the kitchen to snag another cup of coffee. He had every intention of staying ahead of the city's building commission and the upcoming changes to zoning construction laws. Revised building ordinances were set to limit condo development, thanks to political wrangling spanning South Beach in the upcoming election. If he didn't get his ass in gear, he was about to kiss this window of opportunity goodbye when it closed this spring. His ability to purchase and begin building equated to a gold mine with an impeccable view of the Atlantic.

Returning to his office and the mountain of paperwork covering his desk, he inwardly grumbled—loudly—and thought, _what the hell_. Glancing down at his computer screen, he studied Apex's website. Before he'd commit to using Sinclair's suggested building-code specialist, Eric reviewed Miss Silverpointe's broker qualifications one more time. He'd be damned if he'd let his dick decide which broker he would or wouldn't use. This was cut-and-dry, and going to be business as usual.

He and Sinclair had been closer than blood brothers, a long time ago when he'd needed more than a friend. That fact hardly negated that he'd allow any screwing up on this deal. He planned on being in Miami for less than a week. No longer than necessary to find the property and hand over the details to Sinclair and his financial team. He'd return six weeks later to break ground in a pattern of finding land, financing the property, and then building the oceanfront condo.

After Miami, Rio de Janeiro was his next destination. His travel plans were already booked for Brazil. Another ocean, another piece of property, another deal. His calendar didn't have a week free until the middle of August. The start to the hurricane season was the only time he took to do more than hop from site to site.

Sitting at his desk with the cup of coffee in hand, he double-clicked the mouse, and opened a link to Apex's website. A snazzy design featuring South Beach nightlife filled the computer screen. He perused the links, selecting the one for Miss Silverpoint, and telling himself to keep it together. So the fuck what if she was a beautiful woman. He'd met plenty. Sinclair had advised him the website had been updated. But his warning had not been enough.

Eric choked on his mouthful of coffee upon seeing the images of Ariel that filled his screen. His eyes darted from image to image, and there were plenty that invited him to stop and stare. Hard. The web page had several photographs of her, and he had a sudden urge to call up Sinclair and demand they be taken down. What was it about Ariel that prompted this urge to go balls-to-wall possessive over her—a woman he'd never met? He did the math. No way in hell he could know her. Fresh face, hell, she couldn't be more than nineteen or twenty, which meant she was jail bait the last time he'd been in Miami. Oh. Hell. No way would he have touched the likes of that type of hot mess, no matter how irresistible Ariel was now—or then.

He almost clicked out of the link, but just happened to catch sight of her long, smooth legs when she was featured sitting at a conference table. Nothing scandalous, but something in her expression struck a chord in him. _Couldn't be the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous—now could it?_

He sucked down a gulp of coffee and over the rim of his cup, he tried to focus on reading Miss Silverpointe's qualifications, but his dickhead attention kept returning to her bare legs. His thoughts flared with her lovely limbs spread beneath him, thrown over his shoulders, wrapped around his waist… Damn it. He was actually becoming aroused, growing harder by the second, and his imagination was having a heyday. This train of thought had train wreck written all over it.

He phoned his college buddy, trying to avoid a real estate meltdown.

"For the love of Mary, Eric, I was just thinking 'bout you. What's shaking?" Sinclair asked in a jovial tone.

"Well, I finished reading your broker's bio for one thing," Eric said in a low, measured voice, his body wired to the max. He rubbed his fingers across his lids to relieve the burning in his eyeballs that came from staring at Miss Silverpointe and struggled to sound like he had an ounce of sanity left. "Shit, Sinclair. I'm not coming for a hot date. Man, I need a broker with sharp-as-hell teeth. Razor sharp. Who else have you got that can handle this deal?"

"Stop trolling my website." His friend laughed.

"Trolling? The woman's a neon sign with a message I'd rather not think about. I'm going to be ready to roll and I don't need any headaches."

"That's my website marketing guru for you. This is South Beach and it's cosmopolitan. Topless beaches and all. Can't deny my staff is amazing. On several levels. But you'll see. Trust me, Eric. Don't let your eyes deceive you. I followed your directives. You said all business, and you will not find a more formidable ally. Ariel Silverpointe can sweat the best."

Eric imagined the type of hot-and-bothered reaction Ariel produced with her angelic looks and a body that required blinders. "If I get a sense that she can't handle the heat, I expect your top broker, preferably one who…can come to the table prepared. Deal?"

His mind flared with a hotter than sin image of Ariel, on her back on a table, and he over her, kissing her mouth. Pinpricks of sweat formed on his skin. The image wasn't something from the future. Fuck no. It was as though swimming to the surface of his memory from the past. This was the second time and he didn't like it. Not one bit. But that was totally ridiculous of course. Shit. He scratched the side of his face, uncertain why the idea of heading down south felt like a kick in his gut.

"Simmer down. I'll see you tomorrow, and then you can decide," Sinclair offered. "How are you feeling?"

His friend's offhanded question should have been strange in how it blindsided him. But it wasn't. Sinclair had an uncanny ability to nail him insofar as his frame of mind. Always had and, Eric suspected, his friend always would.

"I'll be better when I'm assured a piece of property is waiting for me when I arrive," he growled.

"On that, I can promise you, Eric. Ariel's worked her magic. Prime real estate and you'll be floored to see what she'd uncovered. You won't be sorry you returned to South Beach," Sinclair said with an assured chuckle. "I'll let Ariel know you're on your way. She'll be in touch shortly."

"See you tomorrow." Eric slammed the receiver down, cutting off his friend's all too confident chuckle.

Owning a land development company, he'd been jerked around plenty. All of a sudden, so-called acquaintances became old friends, full of promises in exchange for contracts. None of that seemed to matter when he found himself contemplating his soon-to-be realtor's kissable mouth, and then imagined her in terms that had nothing to do with a land acquisition.

Naw, he wasn't having any of _that _this time around. The only thing he needed to wrap around himself was a honey of a property land deal. That type of deal meant he required a broker with balls of titanium, not a pink mouth that looked sweet enough to kiss.

Without warning, an electrical current ran through his body, waking up his senses as his gaze returned to the image of Ariel… Miss Silverpointe. He dragged his hand down his face. Too much rode on this deal to fall under the spell of a woman. Especially one who made him wonder what she'd look like with her hair down and loose, calling out his name. He swore he could hear her voice in his head, as though a vault had suddenly been unlocked.

He forced himself to think of something else—anything besides the texture of Ariel's skin that pierced him. He picked up a memo detailing the zoning laws coming into play and focused on the words on the page. With a piece of property anywhere on Ocean Drive, there'd be nothing short of a feeding frenzy for the next few days. He demanded the services of a professional broker, someone capable of keeping her cool—move in for the kill, pushing aside boundaries in order to seal the deal. And he needed to get his head screwed back on, or else.

Eric clenched his jaw, refusing to drool a second longer over the mind-stuttering image of Miss Silverpointe. Closing the Internet browser, he leaned back in his chair, and shut his eyes. _What in the world is this trip going to cost me?_

After arriving in South Beach, Eric drove over to Lincoln Road where Apex had their offices. It had been awhile since he'd been back, and the details were foggy as ever. He took a spin around the area before checking in at Sinclair's boutique brokerage house sandwiched between a pair of restored Art Deco buildings.

"Jesus H. Christ." He let out a sharp breath when he spotted a familiar set of long, tanned legs coming into view. "Ariel," he murmured to himself. He lowered his sunglasses, leaning over his steering wheel as his little realtor sauntered up the sidewalk.

Sitting inside his SUV, he seriously contemplated Sinclair's secret weapon—Miss Silverpointe and her endless curves. He definitely got the feeling that this wasn't the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Probably his overzealous trolling last night and the fact that he'd dreamt of her…doing things that had nothing to do with real estate procurement.

Ariel cradled a cell phone against her cheek and it felt like his eyes were bulging as he traced a path down her body, stalling at her legs. _Christ_, he remembered those beauties almost all too well. _Moses_. She stopped and must have chewed someone's ear on the other end of her cell. She resembled a tiger out on a hunt.

_Man, oh man_. Watching her, he chuckled softly. The way she swerved around people on the sidewalk, and then, with one glance and a word, took care of a group of men who tried to stall her progress. Whatever she said, one man threw up his hands and backed away while his friends elbowed him. They all looked after Miss Silverpointe with an expression of respectful admiration not to mention, thinly veiled male lust.

After this little act of voyeurism, he sat back, even more perplexed with his choice realtor. On one hand, he owed Sinclair after Ariel reached out to him in a series of emails that set his mind at ease with her line on a couple of pieces of property. It was the other—his very own hand—which hungered to reach out and take hold of Ariel, haul her up against him, which he wanted to arm wrestle. Eric shook his head and glanced across the street at the windows of Sinclair's offices.

_Focus on the deal, not your dick!_

Apex might just be his new real estate firm down south. Instead of false assurances, his old buddy delivered as promised. Eric texted his financial assistant, alerting his team that he was ready to do the meet and greet at Apex. He'd leave Sinclair with his staff to sort out the details for a cash deal.

He continued to contemplate Ariel unobtrusively, savoring the gentle sway of her body as her hips rocked back and forth going up the steps. Earlier she'd sent him an email asserting she was prepared to deliver half-a-point discount to be brokered with financial institutes for a commercial developer loan. Even guaranteed he'd break ground before mid-March. Well, if she could make those promises a reality, he was ready to get this party started. The set of her jaw had him itching to see if she was all talk, or the real thing. A couple of questions and he'd instantly know to fold or hold.


	2. OCEAN OF LOVE CH 2 ADULT FAIRY TALE

Chapter Two

Sinclair's clipped voice pierced her consciousness. "Ariel, you're heading the SoBe condo deal. Eric Herndon is on his way to our office. I just spoke with him, and he is on board that you're his realtor. He's arrived early and is ready to meet. Where are you?"

"Wait a sec. Did you say head, as in lead?" She stared at the front door of Apex Realty. Out on the sidewalk, this was a splendid place to hear the news. She marched up the steps, almost yanking off the door handle.

"Eric and I spoke. He's your type of client." Sinclair actually laughed like this was funny.

_Grrr!_ She gritted her teeth. "So not amused right now, Sinclair. Great, my client has a name. Eric what?"

"Herndon," he murmured slowly. "You two will hit it off. Like old acquaintances."

_What did that mean?_

"Hold on. Do you mean Herndon Construction?" Sweet Lord, her boss was a pistol on this deal. Did he just think a global firm like Herndon's wanted to deal on the fly? She should have had weeks to prepare. She would have studied her buyer and nailed down his preferences, not heard about him like he was here to find a storage unit to lease in Hialeah.

"The very same one. What do you know of Eric?" Sinclair's voice grew serious.

"Besides that Mr. Herndon—or rather his company—is tearing up beachfront property all over the globe. Not much else. Why? If you would have told me sooner, I could have a dossier on him. Now, I'll be lucky to pick him out of a line of two. Thank you very much!"

So far Sinclair had kept her at an arms distance in asking too many questions about the buyer. Actually, he'd refused to answer question number one, and for a few weeks she'd believed it was some Hollywood actor who might be the buyer. Not unusual to keep the identity of the buyer under wraps to prevent driving the property price sky high. All she'd been given were parameters to work on to secure a parcel of land. Personally, she couldn't care less who might be buying.

Only recently, just hours ago actually, had Sinclair disclosed a vague email address for the contact seeking to purchase the oceanfront property. In all of her boss's eccentricities—and there were a slew—Sinclair in his closed-mouth style, sent her an innocuous email address late last night to begin providing a heads-up about her research. For God's sake, she'd had to basically address her email to _Dear Sir,_ but opted with a generic memo to save face that she, for one, didn't have a clue who the recipient of her SoBe info was.

"It's better this way. You'll come to the table fresh. No preconceived judgments. Best way to start a new relationship."

"Okay, from what was already strange, you just dived into the arena of bizarre."

"Just get in here," he said and she could hear voices in the background. Yeah, things were heating up inside. Business as usual at Apex.

"I'm coming into the office now. Excuse me? Sinclair, when did all this change?" Ariel asked, steadying her voice from the stratosphere back to her office at Apex.

"Your new client will be here in about a few minutes. I didn't tell you sooner because I know how you tend to get stressed-out. Take a deep breath and you'll do just fine. I reviewed all your notes, research, and the video presentation. Your game is on. Just do what you do."

"Refresh me. What exactly is that?" God, she hoped her boss could hear the eye roll she just exercised.

"Deliver. Ariel, free up those properties you have been working on. Just don't screw this up." Sinclair rambled on before she could screech, "I trust you, or I wouldn't have suggested you as the go to broker for Eric."

Her stomach just crash-landed at her feet. _Go to—more like meet and leave._ She'd be lucky if Eric Herndon didn't arrive, take one look at her and her lack of preparation, and turn on his heel. Him and his ability to broker deals were so out of her league.

"Gee, thanks. Anything else?" she asked.

"Just work your usual magic." He hung up before she could gasp.

Great advice from her boss; not the most inspiring of pep talks she'd ever received. No point in stewing though. She envisioned what needed to take place in order to prepare for this meeting. Wait, she was head on the deal. Tonight was the full moon. Ariel's fingers trembled, fully understanding she was in a bind and what it actually meant to be head.

What the heck did Sinclair do with clients of this caliber? Client after-hour meetings were a definite.

Fancy dinners at five-star restaurants.

A SoBe night-club rendezvous.

_Tons and tons of schmoozing._

She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. Entering her office, she pressed the skin at her temples as she walked down the corridor. Once inside her office, she sank onto her chair, and began ticking off her to-do list. With her digital file open, she scanned the first slide of her presentation, and hit the backspace key removing Sinclair's name. A few keystrokes later, she stared at her name as the Apex broker for the Mr. Herndon.

After glancing at her laptop clock, she stopped flipping through the presentation and muttering to herself. She'd finished reviewing her completed file on the Herndon deal, did a little research about Herndon Construction's past projects, and had a few seconds before her client showed. _Crud,_ _her client_.

Only minutes ago, the news—more like a sonic boom—had hit somewhere in her chest, and the after effects were still running rampant. Her legs jiggled under her desk. Mr. Herndon, a well-known land developer had been dropped into her real estate broker lap. She didn't know if she should laugh or cry. Throwing up came to mind as she hugged her middle.

She rose and paced in front of her desk, practicing her greeting and firm handshake. Eric Herndon had to be a hard-nosed construction manager to have come this far as a land developer, from what she gathered. Those men tended to resemble old athletes sporting a beer gut and loved to talk about the _good 'ole days_. She imagined him showing up with in a loud sports coat, and a ruddy complexion, cracking his knuckles obnoxiously.

Sinclair stuck his head into her office. "Eric's here. I'm going out to the reception area, and I'll bring him back to your office. Look, he has a way of being…slightly abrasive. His company had developed beachfront property on several continents. He'd built a slew of condos as well as a ruthless reputation in business deals. No way around it...Eric's got a reputation of being a hardass, but nothing you can't handle."

"I'm more than ready," she squeaked. _Great Minnie Mouse impression. _

Well that did it! Listening to Sinclair's footsteps fade down the carpeted corridor, she couldn't resist taking a peek at her client and snuck along the hall, expecting to find a short, stocky man in the reception area. _Who in the hell is that?_ A Greek God come to life was her first flaring impression. The man was tall, long, and lean, and she let her eyes wander aimlessly for a couple of mind-blowing seconds of man candy visual licking. Oh honey! When her gaze stopped again on his tight ass, Ariel felt her insides ripple in a heat wave and it was all she could do to refrain from rushing forward and pushing Sinclair out of the way.

Oh. Dear. God! The man was _ginormous_. As Ariel peered at the back of her client, she stumbled and haphazardly grasped the wainscoting to keep from face-planting. She steadied herself, brushing aside her bangs, and wondered why she'd not actively trolled the Internet to learn about her client.

Mr. Herndon towered above Sinclair, sporting a set of broad shoulders and he said something that drew a hearty chuckle from her boss. The man had that type of deep voice that melted metal and of course, she was starting to feel a bit damp herself. Ariel stepped into the reception area, dying to hear what was being said. She clung to the edge of a leather club chair and met the eyes of the receptionist, who leaned over a few inches and stared back at her with a quizzical expression.

Blood rushed to Ariel's face and she waved, hoping the receptionist wouldn't announce her standing there and staring. Damn it, all she got wind of was a series of introductions and some mention of college. There was a woman with flaming red hair who stood next to Mr. Herndon. Possibly staff or his wife. As if reading Ariel's thoughts, the stylish redhead turned and smiled at her.

Ariel jerked her face downward, feigning interest in an exotic fern on the nearby table. She side-glanced the group from under her lashes and the moment the woman shifted her focus toward Mr. Herndon and Sinclair, Ariel crept back into the hallway. Once she was a few feet down from hall, she did a full-on sprint toward her office. _Smooth way to start as lead_.

Scads of conflicting thoughts muddled her line of thinking. At least Sinclair could have warned her. She closed her eyes, cringing at the thought of spending today with Mr. Herndon. Really, what type of disclaimer would come with someone like Eric Herndon? _Warning: hot, sexy client—definitely, this pertains to you Ariel. Hands-off!_

Her boss understated everything. Sinclair had pushed into her office a month ago, giving her a heads-up on a vague beachfront property bid. He'd delegated the formidable task to locate several prime SoBe oceanfront pieces of property to her. On top of that chore, she had the joy of working out the condo building codes under revision with the upcoming city elections. This is what she got for not asking more questions. God bless!

She had helped broker deals like this before, but never in a lead position. Or with a man who seemed so demanding and powerful. Leave it to Sinclair. He had explained zilch, other than her experience with commercial properties with zoning issues required her involvement. Her boss's words of wisdom echoed inside her imagination. _Don't screw this up_.

Ariel flinched at the rap on her door. At first glance, the man who stood next to Sinclair drew her entire focus. Her chest constricted with one expanding thought: she knew Eric. God, she was certain they'd met before. He took up most of the space in the doorway, not to mention in her head. She quietly absorbed the way her client's body eclipsed the sunlight pouring from the hallway windows behind him. He stood with his face shadowed, preventing direct eye contact.

Her brain went on the fritz and she froze. Sitting at her desk, she battled the overwhelming desire to enfold Eric Herndon in her arms and press her mouth to his in a welcome as though she'd waited for this moment for years. Ions. His name came to her, poised and crouched on the tip of her tongue_. Eric_. A jolt shot through her and for a millisecond, she blinked, as though it were possible to recall how his commanding lips had once felt on her body…the way his large, skilled hands had pulled her against him…the way the weight of his hips had once pinned her.

A lump formed in her throat. She shook her head, trying to make sense of this ridiculous impulse. _Nonsense!_ Wasn't it?

Sinclair's voice splintered apart her wild imaginary impulse. "Take care, Eric. I'll leave you with my best broker. Ariel Silverpointe has an inner line on the zoning boards as well as connections to more than a few properties. What she does can only be described as magical. I'm sure you'll find each one spectacular." Sinclair winked at her before he exited, clapping the back of the man who continued to consume the space of her office.

Ariel lurched forward in her chair after she realized she'd been sitting in the dark. "Sinclair, catch the lights."

Throughout this ordeal, her client regarded her while leaning up against her doorjamb, cool as a cucumber. Except he wasn't green or… _Stop staring_. Her gaze lowered, braking at his groin. Oh god! Did she just check out her client's package?

_Seriously? _She sprang to her feet. "Would you care to come in?" she asked, refusing to be undone under his perusal—or manly body parts that consumed her overactive imagination.

"Yes. Thank you. Miss Silverpointe?" Mr. Herndon entered her office as she picked up a file off of her desk. He regarded her with a stoic expression and his deep voice caressed her like rough velvet—rubbing her all sorts of wrong ways. "How old are you?"

Her gaze dropped to the file in her hands for a second. His pointblank question was delivered for a reason. Inhaling, she was prepared to give him a rundown of her experience to assuage his more than likely thwarted ego that he'd been paired with her rather than one of the more seasoned brokers. That was until her gaze lifted and then locked with his.

"Err," she faltered, feeling the weight of his focus. For a split second, the idea of running out the door—fast and far—sounded pretty doggone good.

"Well, darlin'? The question is pretty straight forward. Take me. I'm thirty, standing here without a piece of property, and getting older by the second." The twang of his drawl ignited something smoldering deep inside her belly but also made her frown.

_Was he talking down to her?_ His unbelievably blue eyes were livewires, delivering an arching jolt that alternated between a hot and cold charge over her skin.

"What does my age or yours have to do with your interest in beachfront property?" she snapped, refusing to be back down and even if in doing so it meant trouble. The big, gorgeous kind.

He arched a brow at her outburst and almost seemed to be secretly smiling. "Just wondering about your experience. Nothing personal, Miss Silverpointe."

Eric Herndon rocked her world in a single glance. No way, was he going to get her. This was ludicrous to begin a meeting in this fashion. She inhaled and motioned to the chair in her office. She stood with her desk separating them and her heartbeat raced. "Why don't you come in? Unless you'd like to conduct this interview from the doorway?"

"Just waiting to be invited inside," he murmured, lifting off the doorframe. From the way he entered her office, her entire focus trained on his powerful body—the way he moved and dominated the space around him.

Her client's square jaw and high cheekbones went beyond gorgeous, into a realm giving him the ability to curl her toes. Tight. His brows were drawn and the way he stared back at her as though he could see right through her clothing, worked her over. He employed a tough demeanor, like a weapon that he used to recklessly dominate whoever lay before him. At that moment, she was going down for the count if she didn't get her game on and f-a-s-t! She sucked in her breath, putting aside his chiseled good looks, and refocused on why he was here tormenting her. Plenty of people were prickly and if he cared to be off-the-cuff, then he'd have to do a whole lot more than that to unbalance her.

_Fine. Okay, she could handle him_ She grabbed her resume and looked Mr. Drop-dead Gorgeous in the eye.

"This should answer your question." Ariel didn't wait for him to take a seat. She strode from behind her desk and didn't stop until she was right in front of Mr. Herndon. And boy, that trek had her panting. Tipping her face upward, she had to remind herself not to stare and held out her resume and the proposal she'd prepared. Lucky for her, she'd already thought to include her references and wasn't scrounging around for a copy of her resume. That would have been just great. "Mr. Herndon, here's my CV and list of references. I'm certain you'll find more than enough information about my credentials to alleviate any of your concerns."

"Ah. The infamous resume." He smirked, lifting a brow, and took the sheet she held, but not before his fingers grazed over hers. His touch was lighter than a butterfly's wing, but the force detonated deep in her belly.

_I know him._ She rocked slightly in her heels, overcome and ungrounded by her client. "I-I-I have a track record—"

"Nice stationery," he murmured, his voice and the nearness of his body ignited her senses.

What is it about this man that is making me into a blithering idiot? The more she stood there, the more the subtle scent of his masculine cologne consumed her ability to act sensibly. Gazing into his blue eyes, she was wholly convinced that some weird déjà vu had just gone down in her office. Again. If she didn't get a handle on whatever this was, she'd be useless as a broker.

A knock on her door sounded awfully loud and she flinched almost bolting away from Eric. Turning, she stopped abruptly at the doorway, meeting the chilly stare of Marie. The Apex broker who had more experience than God. By rights, Marie should have landed this contract.

"Yes?" Ariel choked.

"Just stopped by to say hi," Marie announced in a chipper—totally out of character—voice.

Marie never stopped by to do anything but brag in two obnoxious flavors. Either she'd slink around to announce a client she'd hooked or a deal she'd closed. She'd often doubted Marie even knew her name.

"Hi?" Ariel parroted, struck stupid by the woman's presence.

"I'm off to yet another closing." Marie purred like a greedy cat that had enjoyed a tasty and illicit meal. More so when she glanced at Mr. Herndon. She actually licked her lips, her attention lowering and landing at a point well below his belt. "Here's a file I borrowed from Sinclair…on beach ordinances. Heard you might need it…"

"I have my own copy. But thanks." She'd compiled that darn file herself. Why would she need a copy? A dart of heat shot up Ariel's neck and she spoke through gritted teeth watching Marie give Eric the once over one more time. She couldn't avoid making introductions, but boy her hand itched to slam the door in Marie's face. "Marie, may I introduce Eric Herndon. Mr. Herndon is a new client. Mr. Herndon, Maria Bluntstone. She. Works." _It_ "Here."

"Good to meet you, Marie," Eric said, brushing his arm against hers as he reached out to shake Marie's hand. Turning his intense stare on another target did little to help Ariel relax when he stood so near to her. Her pulse soared as she stood there sandwiched between the door and Eric's body.

"Don't want to push in. You're already so cramped," Marie chortled. The woman had a corner office—the largest office after Sinclair.

"Of course not," Ariel replied acutely aware that Eric's breath swam over her neck. "Then I guess, it's bye-bye, Marie. We're pretty busy as well."

"Mmm, yes. Nice to see you two together," Marie winked, then knocked on the wooden doorframe next to Ariel's head. Good god, could the woman just leave and stop gawking?

_What the heck had Marie been sipping in her coffee this morning?_

Ariel tried to step back and her hip bumped into something hard. Something hard and male and belonging to her client.

"Excuse me," Eric murmured in his deep, low voice that crept into her head.

No way in hell was she about to glance down and confirm what _it_ was that had poked her. Hand, fingers, keys…it didn't matter. Ariel's pulse fluttered and the hairs all over body stood up as she tried to avoid coming into direct contact with her client's body again. She had to put some serious distance between them. Now!

"All right then. Good luck in your closing." Ariel had one mission and it was to get away from the doorway from hell. "Shall we?" Tightly turning, she held her breath and brushed past Mr. Herndon, noting his furrowed brows. Probably counting the minutes until he said _see ya later__, '__gator_—unless she recouped his flailing confidence.

With Marie gone, and from the safety of her desk…away from her client's hard to ignore body, Ariel notched her chin up and sought his gaze this time. "Look, Mr. Herndon, I have inroads with the building codes department in several counties and have forged a heck of lot of connections where zoning boards are concerned. That's your interest. Isn't it? You have a limited amount of time to seal a deal."

Her whole body responded to Eric on a level she'd never experienced. The insult to her injury worsened when his gaze dropped to her chest, or rather, the way her traitor nipples pressed out from behind her blouse. She reached for her jacket and before she could refuse, Eric came around her desk.

"Let me," he said and took the jacket from her hands.

"Thanks," she mumbled, her face blushing hotter while she slipped on her jacket with his help. All she had to do was push back and she'd be up against his hard chest. Some type of animal magnetism radiated off of him and she bit her lip to regain some self-control.

What did he possess that provoked such an intense response from her? Her breasts swelled inside her bra and ached for release. Why did it have to be him, of all people? Her first big client. Even for having a face that would make a sculptor weep, his sharp edged personality was by far the hardest, if not hottest thing she had to deal with. With a few flinty words and the way he kept looking over at her as though he had some sort of lock on her—a type of possessiveness she'd never experienced. In his intense perusal, he promised friction and heat, leaving her like a lonely wooden matchstick, dipped in red phosphorus, and ready to ignite.

Perhaps she wasn't cut out for the big leagues?

As he walked around her desk, she considered removing herself from the project. She stared at her laptop and the presentation she'd crafted. Christ, she had step up to the plate or get Sinclair on the phone ASAP. Eric faced her without sitting, pressing his fingertips into her desk.

"Miss Silverpointe, talk to me. The straight deal. I don't need a slick salesperson. Care to divulge why the details of what you just spouted off are relative? I'm in need of seaside property, not looking to hire a recent college graduate who looks good _in_—_on paper_. Details are meaningless without substance. Get my drift?" He arched a brow in her direction and poked his finger against her desk, driving in his point.

"_Details?_" She shot back, bracketing her hips. "Those _details_ aren't easy to manufacture. I'm more than that piece of paper I handed you. Much more. I may not have years of experience but I have contacts, people who trust me. I don't promise something that I can't deliver. It's what Sinclair taught me and not once have I left a client high and dry. So maybe I don't have loads of my own sales records, but I'm building my reputation. I know a sale isn't just about finding a piece of property, but the right one." Did she really want off this deal? Not on her life.

Ariel tossed aside the idea of walking away from this project. If she had to work night and day, she'd be the one to show Mr. Eric Herndon she had the goods. But first, she needed to redraw the lines of this one-sided business relationship.

"So, back to the beginning. I asked a simple question," he countered and pointed to a chair. "May I?"

"Please." She responded without missing a beat but refused to sit down—just yet. "I'm old enough to be considered the best at locating oceanfront property. I might not be the one to head a deal, but I'm the one who uncovers properties before they come onto the market. I deal with zoning nightmares and come up with solutions. Ask Sinclair, how many properties have closed in the last month…or the last year, where I didn't have to pull any strings. Those _details_ make up the difference between heaven and hell on a land deal. And just so we're clear, I'm not your little _darlin'_ or your sweetheart or someone you can call sugar. I'm a realtor and a broker and I work damn hard, Mr. Herndon. Damn hard."

He whistled, making his chiseled face appear even more arresting with the hollows carved under his cheekbones and his full lips puckered. _Kissable_ pucker. She swallowed as he let go a long, drawn out note and a muscle twitched along his jaw.

He stopped and his sexy smirk reappeared as he nodded over to her. "Just checking, Miss Silverpoint. Just checking."

Slowly, she sat down and returned his stare. Twirling a pen between her fingers, she inhaled a deep breath and tried to stop the hammer of her heart. The way Mr. Herndon stared unabashed at her was hot enough to fuel her already searing hunger. God, she wanted to do nothing but climb on top of his lap and shut him up with a lip-locking kiss after their little exchange.

_So not gonna happen_.

"I'd like to review our contract, considering we'll be handling the construction loan procurement. I see you finally responded to my email only moments before this meeting. There are two properties I located. They're off the market and, once listed, will be readily snatched up. Our timeline is shrinking as we speak."

She might not be some alpha realtor, yet she wasn't about to let a man—with a chip on his sculpted shoulder—push her around or unhinge her just because he had a boatload of mojo impaling her. Huge real estate client or not, she'd worked her tail off to earn her real estate and broker's license specializing in commercial property acquisitions along the Gold Coast. She'd earned realtor of the year for South Florida based on hard work, not some personality contest.

"This is quite extensive," he said, peering down at the paper storm she'd supplied him with. At least he was seriously considering the proposal or so it seemed. "Industrious little broker, aren't you? I can call you a _broker_ without offending your professional sensibilities…right?"

"I like to cover all my bases and I'm fine with anything you'd like to say as long as you don't talk down to me." She studied Eric while he read over the contract.

He nodded. "Okay. What next?"

"Take a look." She picked up the controller and started the presentation on the flat screen monitor on her wall. For a few seconds, she enjoyed the slight widening of his eyes as he watched the brief presentation for the two beachfront properties she believed were perfect for his project. "This was just a preview. The sites are a short distance away. If you'd like, I can take you over to each one."

Eric's brows drew together. "You shoot from the hip. Surprising and commendable. Give me a second to call my financial advisor. She's with Sinclair. These two sites are more than promising?"

"I'm glad you're gorgeous—I mean, interested."

He laughed. "You could say that. I'll contact my team to get moving on the construction loans."

"Would you care to kiss—like something to drink? Coffee, tea…?" _Me._

His phone rang and he said, "Excuse me."

She slumped forward against her desk. Her cheeks were on fire and luckily he glanced away from her for a second, talking into his cell. Her words were boulders in her mouth. She stunk at chitchat and worse with him. Nothing seemed to come out as she intended. She turned away and picked up a folder, rapidly fanning her scorching face and neck.

He cupped his phone and quirked his brow. "Is the property pricing firm?"

She stopped fanning herself. "I'm working on the pricing. There's a little more wiggle room then you might think if financing is secured," she answered.

"What about cash? Does it work around here?" he deadpanned her.

"Oh yeah. Like magic." Then she got he was joking. "A cash sale sweetens any deal."

"I'm all about making things enjoyable." He shot her a grin and the effect went straight to her chest.

Regardless of his smiling face and apparent interest, it was common knowledge that Eric Herndon detested screw-ups as Sinclair already pointed out. While he talked with his financial advisor, Ariel sent an email to the site managers with an initial proposal for purchase. With no time to waste and cash on the table, she angled her foot in the theoretical doorway of the properties under her wing. Later, she could always retract a bid. She had less than a few hours to lock up this deal. Once the properties were on the open market, they'd be out of her control. And control was the lynchpin of her existence.

She sat back in her chair, inhaling the air tinged with her client's scent. Fresh and clean, not the usual type of cologne that gave her a headache. All of her senses were redrawn to him and when their gazes connected, a jolt raced through her body. Eric's brow rose slightly, and then he smiled over at her with a wicked curl of his lips. The effect sent a quiver of delight throughout her—this time far more powerful—and she found her feet tapping uncontrollably under her desk. She crossed her legs, and the rubbing together of her thighs sparked slivers of pleasure that shot spasms deep within her belly.

_Self. Control_. Not so easy with a man who she would swear on a stack of Bibles she'd met before—intimately. But that was utter hogwash. Must be the excitement of her first big deal. She focused on printing directions to the sites, and got up from her desk to grab them from the printer.

Eric stood as she crossed her office. She started past him but not before something warm swept over her neck. Had he touched her, or was it her imagination one more time? She glanced back at him only to meet his innocent countenance. She couldn't manage to move without coming into direct contact with him. Well jeez, no wonder. Most of the surfaces had files, books, brochures.

"Sorry. My office is jam-packed."

"Nothing to apologize for. Looks like you keep busy. Are you always this prepared for your clients, Miss Silverpointe?" His gaze lowered to her mouth, then rebounded to meet her eyes.

"I make it my business to be prepared for all of my clients. I think I have what you want."

He held her eyes and said softly, "I have no doubt that you do."

"Time will tell." She tried to sound casual and smile, but she could hardly breathe let alone act blasé this close. "Here are the street directions to each property."

His lips quirked in just the right way to send the few hundred butterflies inside her stomach into orbit. "Always a step ahead, in everything you do," he murmured, his blue eyes holding her captive.

"We don't have time to waste. Not a second considering the properties are under the radar. You'll have to make an offer by this evening. Once they're on the market, who knows what other buyers are around. Since you're looking for a deal—well below the listing price—we'll need to move quickly. I suggest completing a site visit and maybe thinking about touching base with an engineering firm by this afternoon. Afterwards, you'll have what's required to make your decision, Mr. Eric."

"On one condition," he said.

He caught her unaware. "Name it," she replied.

He cocked his head for a beat, seeming to study her. "I'd enjoy seeing the properties if you'll agree to show me. There's nothing like undeveloped beauty. And you'll call me Eric. Understood?"

"Any other requirements you'd like to institute?" she countered uncharacteristically.

"Is that an invitation, Miss Silverpointe?" His commanding presence was tearing her ability to remain clear headed to shreds.

_God yes!_ Damn. Damn. Double damn it. She'd unwittingly allowed her client's ninja-like way of disarming her to take hold. Her insides slithered and swam in his presence, a feeling of getting hot and wet all at once. Even her skin started to burn and not in the good kinda of away. She felt the itchy formation of mermaid scales starting to press along her skin under her clothing. No. No. No!

She failed to comprehend how he possessed the ability to make her disregard her work in the first few minutes of knowing him, as well as to tap into her mermaid existence. She absolutely was not due to shift. It's wasn't midnight and there wasn't a drop of saltwater in her office, but somehow Eric's uncontrollable masculinity unchained her siren-self and she hungered for him in a few too many unprofessional ways.

The image flashed of them naked, and she closed her eyes for a second to shake off the dizzy feeling. For some inexplicable reason, she longed to have his hands on her body and his mouth up against hers as they tumbled into the sea or a nearby bed. The sooner she closed this deal, the sooner she could say goodbye to a man who, in five minutes, had wreaked havoc over her senses.

"To see the properties. Come on, Eric. We'd better get going." If she didn't reel their relationship back to a hardline sales contract, he'd have the power to snap his fingers and she'd come running.

Eric softly laughed. "Ariel Silverpointe. What shall we do?"

She fumbled with a paperclip. "Considering our timeline, you'll need to complete a site review before lunch."

"Then hear me out regarding your invitation. In turn, I have a proposition for you." His penetrating gaze made her mouth go dry. He paused as though he sought to craft his next words.

"Yes, go on." The paperclip slipped from her fingers. Her hands gripped the edge of her desk.

"Tell you what, give me your undivided attention for the next two days, and I'll give you my undivided business in so far as real estate deals in the future. I plan on returning to South Florida in March. I'm looking to buy in Fort Lauderdale."

"Really, I don't need an incentive." She bristled at the carrot he dangled. Or it could have been his incredibly sexy mouth that kept calling her attention. Sweet Mary, the way her gaze kept colliding with his made her go breathless and harebrained.

"Well then, how about a simple please?" His open manner, and now his sudden willingness to ask for her help, was faultless and too damn hard to resist.

"_Undivided attention_? Surely, you don't mean literally." She couldn't risk being near him for five more minutes, let alone two whole days. Not with the warning bells flaring inside her body. More than that, she couldn't agree to give him her undivided attention, not with her full moon swim tonight. How could one man be this difficult?

"I mean just that. Side-by-side for the next forty-eight hours. You ever pull an all-nighter or two?"

She shook her head. "No. Not even in college. I always plan my time wisely, but you're my client. I doubt this deal will come to an all-nighter this evening. Of course, I'm game for bringing in this sale to help you. So, yes. I'll do whatever it takes." _Minus working late tonight._

If this meeting came to an all-nighter, she'd think of something to tell him. Heaven help her, she'd cross that bridge later.

"Ariel, consider yourself on my exclusive team." The way he said her name, it sounded decadent and impossible to resist…especially when she wanted to hear him say her name again…in a whisper. He stuck out his hand, displaying a well-developed forearm and muscular bicep. "What do you say?"

She swallowed, staring at his strong palm. He might sound playful, yet if she messed up, he'd throttle her without a qualm.

"I'm pleased to be working with you." She half expected a cold encounter akin to grasping steel. She was unprepared for the sizzling shock of touching his hand and the warm, electrical skittering that leapt from his palm into hers. When he gently squeezed her hand, the effect sent shivers racing across her body.

"Ariel," he said her name in that low, thick voice she'd yearned to hear coming from his mouth. She let go of his hand and he leaned back into his chair, appearing more relaxed as he pulled a business card out and scribbled something on the back. "Here. My private number."

"Good idea," she whispered, trying to ignore the tight ball of desire coming apart in her stomach.

Reaching over her desk, he held out the card. "What's your number? I'll program it into my phone."

"My number?" She sputtered, then recovered. _This isn't some crazy dating scheme. Just give it to him._ She watched him tap the screen as she relayed her telephone number.

He looked up without warning, and the impact of his penetrating gaze muted her. "Yeah. We should have access to one another. Don't you think? If we take in the property sites and are going to spend the next few days together, either one of us might have a question."

"You're right."

"How about I'll play developing-condo-newbie to Sobe land and you can elucidate me as the professional realtor. No harm there. Seriously, so much travel in securing property sites has me ready to spit fire."

"No problem," she murmured. "I can hold my own."

"So I have had the pleasure of seeing. Forgive me if I'm uptight. I blame jet lag and poor hotel food. My staff can tell you, I'm just a loud bark without the bite." His deep voice and the lopsided quirk of his full, sensuous lips made her forget to focus on anything aside from his face for a few beats.

She inhaled and nodded. "Business trips can be rather dry and long. Let's go see the properties. Their beauty will restore you." She retrieved her bag off of the credenza.

He came up next to her, his breath caressing her neck. "I hear Miami has a spicy Latin flair. High energy and fast moving."

"It does, and it's why we'd better _move_ on securing your property." She replied, turning toward him, and hugging her bag.

Isn't that how the other experienced brokers rolled? If she intended to swim in the deep end of the pool, she had to refrain from caving each time this man flirted; otherwise, she'd end up drowning. And worse, Sinclair would never trust her again with a high profile client.

"Hope to learn as much as I can while I'm here. Will you show me?" Again, the sizzle was back.

Ariel stared him straight in the eye, unwilling to be undone by a few playful words. "Come with me, Mr. Herndon. I think our plate is already full trying to seal this deal. I'm sure you'll have time for sightseeing after the contract is signed."

"Miss Silverpointe, I hope so. There are more than a few places I'd like to visit while I'm here. It's been a couple of years since I visited last."

"What?" His words blazed through her imagination, heated her whole body, and she'd be the biggest liar yet if she tried to pretend that they meant nothing. At first, the way he spoke she thought for sure this was his first time here. Sinclair hadn't mentioned it…but of course, they were friends. Made sense he'd been here before. "Things change around here. Even in a couple of years."

"Hope not everything." His eyes narrowed as his gaze roved down her.

Standing in front of Eric, she yearned for him to do more than tease but wondered was it possible, that maybe once he had—done more. Much more.


End file.
